Brooke sang along to the new Missy Elliott CD. It hadn't even been released yet but the sample track had been given to her ahead of time at a party by Missy herself. A perk that came along with being a huge celebrity. Another perk was the VIP parking space that bore her name, courtesy of Felix's clout with the studio execs. Brooke was in a good mood but it soon faded as she made her way into the CBS lot and saw that someone had the nerve to park in her space. She was furious. What moron couldn't read her name written in huge block letters underneath the word "Reserved"? Whoever it was, she was going to have their ass when she got inside. She was the star of the show and having to park four lanes away from the entrance was simply unacceptable. If an ice cold Diet Pepsi and the bouquet of fresh violets she had requested weren't in her private dressing room, she was going to throw a major hissy fit.

Not even bothering to show her pass, she breezed through the security check point and into her dressing room. To her horror, it was already being occupied by two other actors. Brooke was furious as she dug her phone out of her bag and frantically reached out to Felix.

"Well, if it isn't my million dollar baby", he laughed. "What's up?"

"Felix, where the hell are you?"

"Getting a massage. What's going on, doll? You sound upset."

"Damn right, I'm upset. No, I'm mad. Screw that! I'm pissed off! I am at the highest level of pistivity there is, if pistivity is even a word, but anyway, you get my point!"

"Brooke, calm down. Talk to me."

"First of all, someone had the nerve to park in my reserved space. Second, my dressing room, my beloved, spacious and supposedly private dressing room is now being occupied by not one but two other actors. Felix…"

"Unacceptable. Relax, babe. I'll be down as soon as possible."

"Fine, but what am I supposed to do until then?"

"Nothing. If that stupid show can't respect it's biggest star enough to honor the provisions amended to the contract, then you're just gonna go on strike."

"Strike?"

"Hell yeah. You have one of the biggest storylines on that show right now. Like they could film around Savannah Spaulding and the wedding? Trust me, Brooke. Besides, what are they going to do, fire you?"

Brooke hung up the phone and nervously chewed on her lip. Felix was right. It was probably just some misunderstanding. After all, she was the star of the show. Still the parking space and the dressing room seemed too much of a coincidence. And she couldn't help but notice the blatant stares and hushed whispers from the other actors and crew as they passed by her. Rolling her eyes, Brooke stood her ground. As always, Felix would make it all better.

Two hours, several arguments and a steadfast refusal to meet an appointment in hair and make up, later, Felix Domingo, finally arrived. Brooke was on edge, livid and nervous while Felix was cool as a cucumber, sporting designer sunshades and tailored white pants with a black silk shirt that would have made the 1970's John Travolta green with envy.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded in an angry whisper.

"Told you, I was getting a massage. Plus, you know I hate coming downtown in the middle of the day."

"Felix!"

"Okay, okay. Don't get your thongs in a bunch. Just follow me and let me take care of it all."

Felix dragged her by the hand to the office of the executive producer. Ignoring the protests of the secretary, the two barged in to the private office.

"Miss Davis, what a surprise. You and Mr. Domingo in my office when you should be downstairs on set doing what we pay you to do."

"Michelle, Michelle, Michelle", Felix cooed, suavely removing his shades. "What's the deal, baby girl? Following the advice of her manager, me of course, Miss Davis will not be returning to the set until a few issues are cleared up."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Number one, the whole point of having a reserved parking space is so no one else will park there. That was not the case this morning, which left my client quite upset but not half as upset as she was upon discovering other actors sharing her private dressing room. Now what's the deal?"

"Mr. Domingo, Miss Davis no longer has a private dressing area or reserved parking space."

"Excuse me? That's in her contract and…"

"Mr. Domingo, the contract that you had nulled and voided in an attempt to draft a completely new contract with a specific list of demands."

"And…"

"After much ado and discussion, we at Guiding Light, CBS, as well as Proctor and Gamble have decided not to accept these new terms or the new contract. Not only it is null and void, but so is the previous one with all of your extravagant, difficult and down right ridiculous demands."

"You can't do that."

"Oh yes we can and it's done. Here is a copy of the new contract, the original one", Michelle said, handing the document to an open mouthed Felix and Brooke.

"This is crazy", Brooke whined. "No dressing room, no parking space, less pay…"

"Now, if there is nothing further, I will get back to my work. Miss Davis, I suggest you do the same."

"Oh you will be hearing from our legal counsel", Felix threatened.

"If that's a battle you choose to start, Mr. Domingo."

"Then Brooke quits. That's right."

"Miss Davis?" Michelle questioned.

"I…"

"Your little soap dish cannot possibly survive without Savannah", Felix smirked.

"You are right about that, Mr. Domingo…"

Felix winked at Brooke.

"…However, the show can and will go on, if necessary, without Brooke Davis. The role could be recast by end of the week."

"No way! You can't replace me!" Brooke yelled.

"Miss Davis, it happens everyday. That's the beauty of soaps. We can age a character ten years overnight, bring anyone back from the dead and by the way, no one is irreplaceable except maybe Susan Lucci and sweetheart, you're no Susan Lucci."

A fuming Brooke looked up to Felix for support. He was defeated and he knew it. His constant list of demands and diva like behavior had finally taken its toll. Fixing the collar of his shirt, he put his sunglasses back on and flashed his cockiest grin.

"Congratulations, Michelle. You won the battle but the war is far from over. Trust me."

He grabbed Brooke's hands and they exited the office.

"What the hell was that?" she argued as soon as they were alone in the elevator.

"Don't worry, toots. Just politics and technicalities. I'll take care of it, I always do. In the meantime, get beautiful for the cameras and I'll have this worked out by the day's end."

Rolling her eyes but realizing there were no other options, Brooke trudged off to hair and make up like a spoiled child that had just been punished. She plopped down in the chair. A few minutes later, the stylist arrived.

"Hey! What are you doing? What the hell is that?"

Brooke was horrified at the dark circles being drawn under her eyes and the bandages being put over her head.

"I'm sorry, Miss Davis. It's in the script. Haven't you read it yet?"

"Give me that", Brooke snorted, yanking the paper's from the woman's hand.

She could barely believe her eyes. It was the ultimate slap in the face. The most detrimental, solitary act that could happen to any soap actor or actress. The dreaded last move before the final step of being written off a show completely. Brooke was mortified. Savannah Spaulding had lapsed into a coma.